


The Cold Night

by Copperbell111



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-05 03:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14035002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copperbell111/pseuds/Copperbell111
Summary: A very injured Francis Bonnefoy wakes up on a frozen battlefield. He's ready to die, but the thought that he would never see Arthur Kirkland again keeps him going, and walking through the pain and the cold to get to him. Sad. Hurt/comfort.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Mirror" by Lil wayne ft Bruno Mars Instrumental version https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nuKff59cIBY

He awoke on the battlefield, not really sure what happened to him at first, as his brain wouldn't engage with the situation, after a few minutes he realised he was surrounded by dead bodies, fallen all over one another, freezing in the cold of the fallen snow. Francis Bonnefoy lay injured underneath the heavy body of one of his fallen countrymen, his entire body in terrible pain. He could have just stayed there, and let death take him, after all it would have been the easiest thing to do. Tears filled his eyes and slipped down his cheeks into the snow beside him.

"Just let the pain overtake you Francis…" he murmured to himself "It won't be long now… "

As he lay there, his body weakening, he began to think about Arthur Kirkland, and how he would never see him again. What would Arthur think if he died right here? Would he miss him? He could see his face in his mind, that smile of his that always seemed to melt his resolve every time, those beautiful big green eyes, that could see right into his soul… yes he would miss him. Then a thought came to him that England was in this war as well, and he had been fighting alongside him when … something happened, a grenade was thrown into their company, that was it, and the blast killed every man with him. It was a miracle that he'd survived. What about Arthur though? Had he survived?

Suddenly possessed with a purpose, Francis pushed himself free of the bodies on the freezing battlefield and dragged himself away from them, managing to get to his feet, even though that was so difficult, his muscles could barely move.

"Arthur…" He mumbled and made his way through the ice and snow, looking for him, trying to focus but it wasn't easy. He couldn't see him anywhere, and that at least was a good thing, because it meant that he'd managed to survive. However, he was still on the battlefield, far from any place of civilisaton, and people who could help, and he was suffering from extensive and crippling pain. One foot after the other, meant he was at least walking, though every step was utter agony, just one more step and then another. How was he going to do this? The battlefield was miles from anywhere, and he had no help, no transport, nothing but his own two legs to carry him through the fields of the dead. With only the thought of Arthur in his mind he struggled through the cold, the terrible biting cold that made his skin feel red raw in the wind, and the snow that fell, and still he put one foot in front of the other.

"I've got to get to him…" Was the thought in his mind. "I can't die out here, without him…"

After what felt like a long time of struggling through it, Francis started to cry deeply, with the shooting pain that plagued his every step, with the thought he would never see Arthur again, never feel his arms around him, never hear his voice or look into those eyes again. He was alone in darkness, wishing with all his heart that someone would realise he was alive, that someone cared about him enough to find him and help him. He hoped that somehow Arthur had been saved when that grenade hit them.

"Please be alright…" He wept, still struggling through. Then he stopped, realising that before the grenade hit, he and Arthur had argued terribly. He couldn't even remember what it was over now, it was some trivial matter, but he remembered how he'd yelled at him bitterly, called him names, and made him feel bad. He recalled that last look Arthur had given him before they set off on this fatal mission, and he had tears in his eyes, thinking that Francis didn't want to know him anymore. He'd hurt him, but had some stupid sense of pride, knowing that he was punishing him for his ignorance, for him being such an arrogant bastard, and he couldn't even remember what the argument was about, just that he'd succeeded in making him hurt… stupid damn revenge… why in the world had he wanted to hurt the man he loved? He really didn't deserve it.

"Oh I'm so sorry…" he cried to himself through chattering teeth, the tears freezing on his cheeks, his body going into shock with the pain and the penetrating cold. He was shaking, not just shivering but his nerves were absolutely shattered and he didn't think he could carry on anymore, and yet one step more, just one step more… that's all it would take… one more step, and he kept doing it for a long time. Could he take that one more step? Yes he could. Could he bear the terrible pain for one more step? Yes he could… yes he could. If it meant that one day he could gaze upon those deep green eyes once more, he was going to take another step, and walk off that field of death, to find him. He couldn't stop crying, and it just got worse and worse, till his legs finally gave way underneath him and he just couldn't get up again. His arms supported him now, his hands on the frozen ground, but so damn cold that all he could feel was more pain. He had to keep going, just to see him one more time, that was all he wanted. If only his body would move, if only he could keep going, if he could make it through… Did Arthur love him enough to care that he was even out here? Perhaps he had alienated him so badly that now he didn't love him, but surely he wouldn't let him die… so now his heart broke too. Abandoned and alone in a field of death, in a world of pain, and he didn't want revenge, or hate Arthur, he loved him, and he cried because he wouldn't get to see him again. "I love you…" He uttered and collapsed to the ground.

Then his mind started going, thinking he was with Arthur, hallucinating that they were snuggled up on the sofa, not out here in the trenches, fighting a war… dying on a cold empty field… such an empty death…

"Hold on my love…" came a voice in his ear. He must have been hallucinating because that smooth voice belonged to Arthur, and he wasn't here… or was he?

"I'm so glad I found you…" the voice continued. "Help is on its way, you just hold on Francis…"

Looking up, he realised that someone was there. He recognised his boots, and the uniform and the familiar clean smell of his soap and aftershave, interspersed with soot and oil. It was Arthur, right there, and he wasn't hallucinating after all.

"Is the pain so bad my love?" Arthur asked as he held him, the snow falling thick and fast around them.

"Arthur…" Francis said through the shivering and his body wanting to convulse with the pain. He was trying to hard not to let it. He gripped Arthur's clothing and tried to speak. "I'm dying… I never thought I'd s..see you again…" He uttered pitifully. "I want to tell you I d...didn't mean to h… hurt you… you're the only man I've ever loved… and I'm..s..sorry…"

Arthur wondered why he was thinking of a thing like that when the pain must have been horrific for him, and the cold would have been too much to bear with. Why was he worried that he'd upset him? He too couldn't even remember why they had argued, yes he had been upset but that faded into nothing when he escaped that grenade and was taken to safety by his troops, and in the confusion not realising that Francis wasn't with them. He had returned to the battlefield to find him and rescue any other injured men, and he'd been searching for him for a few hours. He had no idea that Francis was trying to get off that battlefield, injured and alone in the cold… and in that state, all he could think about was their love and how he might have hurt him, not bothered about himself or anything else.

"You listen to me Francis…" He mumbled softly "You're not gong to die." He said. "My men have transport, and you'll be inside within a few minutes… I'm going to take care of you and make you better…" He whispered as he stroked Francis' tear stained face. "If I had only known you were in such a state…" he said and his voice faltered and cracked. Francis looked up at him, his eyes full of tears and such an expression of love and trust, that it touched him so much and he openly wept, with him. "Don't worry, you're going to be alright…" he said trying to control it, but not succeeding very well. He saw the truck approaching them and he was the one who picked Francis up from the ground, placing him on a stretcher in the truck, he stayed with him. Hoping that he'd found him in time… and that he wouldn't die.


	2. Tuesday Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis wants to die, and let Germany take over France, but England encourages him to keep going because he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Tuesday Afternoon" by the Moody Blues. Extended Version. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GEMuAnFH_lM

Tuesday afternoon...

"Francis?" a whispered voice entered through his delirium. "Francis are you awake?" Something was calling him… or someone… he knew that voice… it was the voice of England, Arthur Kirkland. He was there and he was real. Francis managed to open his eyes a little, wondering where he was and what was going on. Wherever this was, it was warm and safe, and he was no longer on the freezing battlefield of death. Next to him sat Arthur, holding his hand and occasionally cooling him down with a cold cloth as he was burning up with a terrible fever. He was extremely ill after his ordeal on the battlefield and he could hardly breathe without pain.

"Francis?" Arthur continued to whisper softly. "How are you feeling?"

He could only respond with a look of pain that lay behind his cerulean blue eyes, as he tried to open his mouth to speak, but nothing would come to him.

Arthur just watched him and continued to try to cool down the fever that had claimed him. He gently kissed Francis' fingers and watched over him for a long time.

"Are you in pain my love?" He asked gently. Francis nodded. It was as though every bone in his body had been crushed and he'd been beaten to a pulp by Germany, defeated and helpless, all he had was England, his oldest friend and enemy there to help him.

"It is finished…Arthur…" He mumbled "Allemagne has won. I can't fight against him… he's too strong…"

"You listen to me Francis Bonnefoy… you are a beautiful man… you are strong and you're going to make it. You're not going to die because of this war, and certainly not because of Germany." He said to try to encourage him. "You are safe here, and I'm going to make sure you get well again… I will free you from the pain, and I will help you as best as I can. I love you Francis…"

At those words, the Frenchman felt tears welling up in his eyes. England must love him after all, as he was going to help him… and yet he felt so weak he could just give up right there and then. "But… he may be stronger than you too Arthur… he's a war machine…"

"And we know a juggernaut that will crush him in an instant… " Arthur replied.

"Amerique?" Francis managed to ask through his tears. "Will he help?"

"He said he would." Arthur replied. "Meri loves us… in his own way…" He sighed. "We can rely on him I think."

"I don't know if I can go on …" Francis sighed as he felt his body get heavier, he could barely keep his eyes open, he had no energy at all. "I can't do it…."

"You have to Francis… you have to live because… because I need you…" Arthur said trying not to let the tears show that threatened to flow from his eyes.

"You don't need me… I'm finished Arthur…"

"No… you're my greatest friend… my oldest enemy… the man I love more than life itself. You can't go and leave me here all alone… I need you… and you're going to get better, and you're going to be the France I know and love… you won't die…"

"Do you mean that?" Francis uttered "That you love me more than life itself?" he choked. He couldn't believe England would say a thing like that, for it meant such a big thing, for Arthur to tell him that. It meant that he was willing to risk everything, even his life, for Francis, and that was precious. More precious than anything in the whole world.

"Listen to me Francis…" He uttered "You and I have fought against each other, and side by side… there's no one I love in this whole world the way I love you." He wept, the tears now flowing from his eyes, and he didn't even try to stop them. "How can I go on without you? How can I live without my life?"

England was crying. From his heart, from his soul. Francis felt his heart in his chest beat faster and turn over, for Arthur cared for him in a way he could never have dreamed of.

"Je'taime…" He whispered. "I… love you…"

Arthur took Francis' cold hand and held it to his lips, kissing his fingers, and Francis could feel those wet tears on his cheeks that continued to flow. "You must get better, you have to get better… do you hear me? You're going to eat, and drink… and I'll be right here with you… I'm not going to leave you alone."

Francis relaxed, for once feeling loved by his Angleterre, whom he'd always needed, and loved and hoped would love him in return. This proved it and more. He would stand up to Germany, and only because England saved him.


End file.
